


Fixing Becky Santorina

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boarding School, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnotism, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sad Ending, Shameless Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: A young professor hypnotizes the campus’ most popular student in the hopes of correcting her bad behavior.  Once she is under his spell, however, the prof can’t but help but seduce her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A reader suggested I write an erotic hypnosis story about a student and teacher. (I assumed the teacher was to be the hypnotist.) But when I started kicking around plot ideas, I realized that the story could be very different if the pretty young student was an innocent Good Girl or a spoiled Bad Girl. Unable to decide which I liked better, I wrote a story for each.
> 
> This is the Bad Girl's story. You’ll find the companion Good Girl story as “Why Did Freud Abandon Hypnosis, Anyway?” which I’m also releasing today.
> 
> -NickelModelTales

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

**Wendall Falls, New York**

**September 2017**

 

It is seven o’clock, and I should be heading home.  Smithers Hall is silent as a tomb.  Hell, every academic building on campus is probably deserted.  Seriously, why am I still at work?

I step back from the dusty stacks of boxes and crates and I don’t know what else that has filled up the Social Studies Laboratory.  We call it a “Social Studies Laboratory,” but honestly, its an overglorified supply closet off of my classroom.  It hasn’t been used as an actual lab in decades.  Like it or not, its my rotten job to haul off of this useless shit out of here and out to the dumpsters.

I peak inside a box marked “1980 Census Workbooks” and the thing rips open at the merest touch.  Unused workbooks spill out all over the floor.  Can you believe this?

I scowl.  _Fuck this._   Angry at the headmaster, the school, and the universe, I step back and fish inside my jacket pocket.  I find my emergency joint that I perversely like to keep next to my breast throughout the day.  I pull the lab door shut nearly all the way, leaving it open just a crack.  Then I peel the joint out of its saran wrap, and in another sixty seconds, I’m lighting up.

That’s right.  I’m a professor smoking dope in his own Social Studies Lab.  I don’t care what you think.

I snap on the exhaust fan.  To my surprise, the little exhaust is nearly silent.

My name is Peter Marrows, the sociology/psychology professor here at Wendell Hallow Academy.  I am thirty-four, seven years out of graduate school.  And no, I am not a **_real_** professor.  I stalled out in pursuing my PhD (Cognitive Psychology) and thought taking a year or two off might help me recharge my batteries.  I took this teaching gig at because the money initially seemed pretty descent, and hey, its Wendell Hallow.  Always in the top twenty private schools nationwide.

But my temporary break has stretched on and on.  Two years ago, my university informed me that because I had been so absent from my PhD program, they were dropping me as a student.  If I had any brains, I would quit this job and throw myself into a new program, full-time.  I don’t want to be stuck at Wendell Hallow forever.

There we go…  That joint is kicking in.  Nice.

So, you may reasonably ask…  If I’m a Wendell Hallow professor, why am I cleaning out a supply closet… er, the Soc Lab?  The question begs the answer.  I’m a Wendell Hallow professor, which means I’m basically a slave to the school.  We’re called “professors,” but we wind up doing everything but mopping the fucking floors here.  For a lousy thirty-two thousand a year, we are-

A bang jolts me back to awareness.  Someone has thrown open the door of my classroom from the main corridor!  Oh shit!

In a stumbling rush, I flick off the Soc Lab light, plunging me into darkness.  At the same time, I drop the joint and crush it under my heel.  Did the intruder hear me?

I freeze, smelling the reefer on my clothes and waiting with dread for the Lab door to be flung open.  Its already open a crack; whoever the intruder is, they’ll figure out I’m in here in, like, seconds.

 _I’m going to get fired,_ I think in despair.  _Just fucking perfect._

I hear the sound of a teenage girl, laughing.  “Yeah,” she says, “this will do.  Com’on.”  The main lights in the classroom snap on.  I hear the door to the corridor shut and then lock.

 _…the fuck?_ I think.

I hear the young woman walk to the front of my classroom, striding as if she owned the joint.  Without any hesitation, she begins pushing desks together.  The scraping noise is loud and grating, but she obviously has no fear of being caught.

I realize; with the lights out in there but turned on in the main classroom, she won’t be able to see me.  I crane my neck and peer through the crack between door and frame.

I can see the front of my classroom.  There, roughly shoving three desks together long-ways, is an older girl in a Wendell Hallow student uniform, complete with the blazer jacket, blouse, tie, and black skirt.

My eyes bulge slightly.  I know this girl!  Its Becky Santorina.

Ah, Becky.  She is a senior, easily the most beautiful woman in her year.  She has unmistakable green eyes, a Miss America face, and the most perfectly-shaped lips God ever gave a woman.  Her flowing red hair is currently pinned up.  Oh, I’ve always had such a thing for redheads.

Becky also possesses a killer body.  The girl is a sexpot, there is no way around it.  Like all her older sisters, her genes have blessed her with creamy, smooth skin, long legs, a tight tummy sandwiched between curvy hips and a bulging chest.  To glance at Becky was to know she must look scrumptious naked.  Even now, as she passes under the fluorescent lights, I can see her hips and shoulders swaying naturally, her luscious figure there to admire.  With her cleavage and ass, she makes the school uniform look positively obscene.

I know Becky, as she takes my Intro Psych course in this very classroom.  She sits in the back, rarely pays attention, and never addresses me with anything but veiled distain.  I’m fairly certain her parents are divorced and rich, and compete for her love by spoiling her.  Becky has absolutely no incentive to study hard, and will probably skip college altogether.

“There,” Becky says curtly.  “This will do nicely.”

I hear a male voice speak.  “Are you sure no-one’s gonna find us?”  The voice sounds young and nervous.

Hair stands up on the back of my neck.  Wendell Hallow is a girls’ academy, maybe the last elite, girls-only school on the East Coast.  Any boy on campus must have been smuggled in.  What is Becky up to?

“No-one’s gonna find us,” Becky says with a dismissive sneer.  She hops up on the one of the three desks she’s repositioned.  I can see her perfectly.

“Now,” she coos, “are you going to bring that fabulous cock over here, or what?”

As I watch, Becky reaches up and unpins her hair.  She shakes her head, and curls of thick red hair tumble down over her shoulders.  A lopsided but wicked grin lights up her face.

I hear the boy move forward, and soon he is standing right before Becky.  Man, he’s large!  He must have six inches taller than I am, with shoulders a foot wide each.  The kid’s back is to me, so I can’t see his face.  But he’s wearing a Grangewood logo on his jacket.  Grangewood Academy is the boy’s military academy about four miles south on Route 357.

Becky’s delicate hands dip under the boy’s jacket and then slides it off his muscle-packed frame.  As the big lug stares into Becky’s green eyes, the jacket falls to the floor.  She delicately licks her lips.

“Pants down, farmboy,” she murmurs.

The kid – despite his size, he can’t be more than seventeen – quickly undoes his belt and then unzips his fly.  Becky grins wickedly and pulls his jeans open.  I hear the boy moan a little as her left hand slips into his shorts.

“Does this feel good, baby?” Becky purrs.

Oh man.  As a member of Wendell Hallow’s faculty, I should put a stop to this right now.  Boys on campus are not permitted in general; sexual activity of any kind is obviously a serious offense.  Becky is flaunting about every rule in the Student Code here.

But the moment I show my face, I know Becky will smell the reefer.  She’s a very smart girl; she’ll also recognize that I’m high right now.  I’ll bust her for fraternization, but she’ll call her father, who will call his lawyer… and **_I’ll_** be the one thrown out of school.  I know Becky well enough to know how ruthless she can be.  I can’t risk exposure.

“Ohhhh, God!” the boy moans as Becky’s fingers play with him.

“It **_is_** big,” Becky says coyly, her eyes still locked on the boy’s face.  With her free hand, she reaches under his tee-shirt and starts playing with his abs.

This kid is absolute wrapped about Becky’s little finger.  He stands there, transfixed by her sexual magic.

Becky toys with him a little, but doesn’t let him climax.  I’m forced to admit: for a teenager, she has remarkable control.

Then her eyes flash, and she exclaims, “That’s enough for you.  Now… lets do something for me.”

“Whaaaa?” the boy exclaims.  “But I was so close.”

“Its good to want things,” Becky teases.  “You want me, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” pants the boy.

Becky hops off the desk, standing almost toe-to-toe with the hulking Grangewood boy.  She’s a full head shorter than he is.  Now facing away from me, she presses against him, her fingers dancing over his chest and arms.  She flirts like a pro.

Then, with bold but graceful movements, Becky lifts up her black skirt with both hands and lowers her panties to below her hips.  I briefly see her round ass cheeks peek out from under the skirt.

Good God – she’s wearing a thong, a G-String that is little more than just… string.  Definitely not regulation.  I wonder how many times she’s worn that little item in my class.

Becky drops her barely-there underwear to the floor and steps out of them.  Then she climbs onto the desks again and reclines back.  She has swung around, so now I see her face and the front of her body.  She hikes up her skirt and opens her legs, wide.  I gasp – I can’t help it – as I clearly see her pussy in the harsh classroom light.

Lordy, lordy… she’s completely **_shaved_**.  How does a seventeen-year-old girl boarded up in an all-girls school know to shave herself?  The alumni would be appalled.

I’m growing hard.  Like, I’m really, really erect.  Geez, Becky is literally half my age.  This can’t be a good thing.

Becky is clearly aroused.  “You know what to do, right?” she asks the boy.  Her voice is husky and commanding.

As if sleepwalking, the boy lowers his head between her legs and begins kissing her vajayjay.  I see his jaw get busy.

“Oh yeah,” Becky murmurs, and allows her eyes to close.  She grips the boy’s hair with her right hand and pulls him in tighter.  “Just like that, baby…  Just like that…”

*********************

The following day, class is super weird for me.

Becky is in her back row seat, barely acknowledging my lecture, as usual.  I’m talking about Emotional Repression, but I keep sneaking glances at her, thinking, _I’ve seen your pussy_.  I’m terrified of a making really bad Freudian slip.

As class broke up, I did something I’ve never done before.  I positioned myself in the doorway, making a point to say something to every student as they exited.  _Nice work on that latest paper / good question in class today / how is your older brother?_   Questions like that.

Becky is the last student to depart.  As she and I face one another, my mouth dries up.  She pauses, eyeing me with an unreadable expression.

“Yes, Professor Marrows?” she asks coolly.

“I hope you’re enjoying the class,” I manage, still picturing her spread legs and wet vagina.

“Oh,” replied Becky, “its really… neat.”

Then she sweeps past me, as if I don’t exist.

As Becky stalks down the corridor, I find myself staring at her round ass.  Eventually, she disappears into the river of students.

*********************

Suddenly Becky Santorina is on my mind all of the time.  Every professor knows her, or knows of her.

I casually ask my work friends about Becky.  “Oh, **_that_** girl,” recalls Harriet Chen, our French Literature professor.  She shakes her head.  “Every girl wants to be her friend, and every boy wants to be in her pants.  She’s bad news.”

Francis Greer, calculus professor, chimes in:  “When I had Miss Santorina, there was another girl in the class… Sarah McCullum.  Oh, Becky **_hated_** Sarah.  I don’t know why, but after nine weeks, Sarah was abruptly pulled from school.  Her parents blamed Becky.”  Francis sighs.  “The administration never let on what happened behind closed doors… but I personally think Becky bullied Sarah right out of here.”

I begin watching Becky, every chance I get.  She is extremely intelligent, especially when it comes to reading human nature and manipulating people.  When I see her, she is always trailed by hangers-on, although she rarely acknowledges their presence.  Younger girls scurry out of her way in the corridors.  Everyone laughs when she tells a joke.  Everyone is relieved when she leaves the room.

It seems to me that Becky Santorina, by sheer force of personality, is holding Wendell Hallow in her sway.  I’m not sure that’s a healthy thing for anyone.

But at the same time, I find I keep thinking about what I saw from the Soc Lab.  In my mind, I clearly see Becky: her curvy body, her tumbling hair, her bare ass, and her vagina.  I find myself picturing her naked when I see her in person.  When I see beautiful women on billboards or in magazines, I instinctively think that they aren’t as hot or gorgeous as Becky.

I know I’m in trouble when I take a shower, absently thinking about my special pupil, and I realize I am hard for her.

*********************

And then, just before the Christmas exams, everything changes.  I notice that my shoebox office in Faculty Hall is disheveled, even more than usual.  My filing cabinet is particularly messy.

And then while grading my midterms, I notice a definite oddity:  Three students have all scored an 11%.  I give multiple-choice exams, and statistically speaking, if you took an exam and just guessed at the answers, you should get a 25% **_at worst_**.  11% indicates something really weird.  And three students all with the same super awful score?  Something’s up.

And guess who the three student are?  Kendall Reeves, Latoya White… and Becky Santorina.

I visit the headmaster’s offices and request to review the security camera footage of the Smithers faculty office corridor.

“Is something the matter?” Mrs. Founders, the superintendent’s secretary, exclaims.  She’s positively delighted that some student, somewhere, might be in trouble.

“No, nothing, thank you,” I lie.

Mrs. Founders pouts and goes back to her Sudoku.

I fumble my way through the surveillance playback controls for Smithers Hall, and quickly find what I am looking for.  Right at 7:49 PM, two days back, Kendall and Latoya are loitering about my office.  When the coast is clear, Kendall pops inside.  Latoya is the lookout.  After three minutes, Kendall emerges, holding her smart phone in her hand.  The two girls vanish.

Obviously what I’ve seen is a serious infraction of the Students’ Code of Honor.  I should report this immediately.

I switch off the video, and rub my jaw… and think.  A plot has suddenly sprung to fruition in my mind.

As I stand up to leave, Mrs. Founders looks up at me hopefully.

“Will you need to speak to the headmaster, then?” she asks, her finger inching to press the desk intercom button.

“No thank you,” I say politely.  I smile and hurry from the office.

*********************

After Christmas break, I ask Becky, Kendall, and Latoya to stay after class.  Kendall and Latoya look alarmed, but Becky makes her annoyance plainly known.  Despite my lust for her, I want to smack her stupid face.

I close the classroom door, asking the girls to sit down.

“So,” I say, milking the drama, “I’ve reviewed your midterms.  Do you know what I found?”

Crickets.  Becky dramatically sighs and pretends to be more interested in her phone.

“You three all had identical scores,” I said, laying on the accusation.  “Not only that, you all had perfect scores for **_last years’_** midterm.”  I tell them about the security footage.  “Clearly Miss Reeves photographed the wrong answer sheet when she ransacked my office.”

Kendall and Latoya have gone white.  Becky is no longer looking at her phone.

Studying the body language here, I realize **_exactly_** what happened.  Becky, realizing she was about to flunk my midterm, pressured the other two girls to raid my office.  Both Kendall and Latoya were putty in her manipulative hands, easily turned to crime on the queen bee’s behalf.

“Oh my God,” Kendall whimpers, and begins to cry.  Latoya is stone-faced.

I feel a little bad for them… but not that bad.  “I’m sure you realize,” I intone, “that this normally means expulsion for the three of you.”  I over-pronounce the word “expulsion.”

Becky’s expression reddens.  “Why am I accused?” she huffs.  “Am I on the camera?”

“No,” I admit.  “But the three of you literally put down the **_exact same answer_** for every question on the exam.  There’s **_no way_** that could happen by accident.”

Becky opens her mouth to object.  Sometimes when boxed in like this, students resort to the ridiculous argument that a chimpanzee on a typewriter could, in theory, reproduce all of Shakespeare’s works by randomly punching keys.

Sure.  And if I eat enough fiber, I might crap gold.  It is possible, if **_highly_** unlikely, statistically speaking.

I see the wheels furiously turn in Becky’s head.  She falls silent and glowers at me.

I straighten my back.  “I’ve spoken with Headmaster Dillions,” I say, “and he is most concerned about this matter.  Now, given that you three have otherwise unblemished records, he is willing to make… alternative punishments.”

From this point out, I am lying through my teeth.  Of course I haven’t alerted Dillions; he’d boot Kendall and Latoya from the school himself.  Becky would get a slap in the wrist, after daddy’s lawyers made some phone calls.

But I don’t know for a fact that the three girls have otherwise squeaky-clean records.  If they don’t… I could be tipping my hand.

But I keep bluffing.  “As you may know, we professors are required to contribute academic research on an annual basis,” I continue.  “I need volunteer subjects for a paper I am writing.”  I take a deep breath, and play my final card.  “If you three volunteer, I’ll speak to the headmaster about… overlooking… this infraction.”

The girls look at me, stricken.

“What would we have to do?” Becky asks, suspiciously.

“This paper is about the relationship between the subconscious and normal cognitive responses,” I say, deliberately talking fast.  “I’m also interested in the critical bypass of conscious perception, perhaps on a quantum basis.  I haven’t decided yet.”

Blank stares from my students.

“So in my experiments, I will hypnotize you.  Once under hypnosis, I’ll ask you to perform some common tasks… sorting a deck of cards, for instance… and I’ll measure your responses.”

At this, all three girls react with horror.

“ ** _Hypnotize_** me?” wails Kendall.

“My mom would kill me if I got hypnotized,” Latoya says out loud, to no-one in particular.

“You three have a choice,” I say firmly.  “You can accept, help me advance the cause of psychological insight, and expunge your records.  Or you can take your chances with the Disciplinary Board.”

“Oh, one more thing…” I add, as if the thought just occurred.  “I was able to convince the headmaster to agree to this plan.  But the three of you must sign confidentiality statements swearing that you will not discuss this matter with anyone.  Not your peers… not your parents… certainly not your friends.  If word got out, the headmaster and I would have no choice but to expel you **_immediately_**.”

Of course, I am lying again.  Any reasonably intelligent adult would see through such bluster immediately.  But I’m gambling that these naïve kids won’t know any better.

Kendall nods miserably, starting to cry again.  Latoya also nods her head.  She looks as if sentenced to the firing squad.

I look squarely at Becky.  Has she fallen for it?

Becky stares back, and her stony expression is unreadable.  She’s furiously thinking through her predicament.  Does she see through me?  Of these three, she’s the only one who would suspect anything fishy.

Finally she tosses her head.  “Fine,” she says.  “Try to hypnotize me.  I’ll sign.”

Spitefully, she adds, “Your hypnotism won’t work on me, anyway.”

I ignore her venom.  “Very well,” I say.  “Report back to this classroom at seven PM tonight.  Be prepared for a multihour session.  Dismissed.”

I watch my students leave.  Becky tosses one last glare at me before vanishing into the hallway.

*********************

 


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Four hours later, the sun is setting.  I have rearranged my classroom somewhat.  At the front of the room, I’ve pushed back the desks, making some room.  I’ve then placed three chairs side-by-side-by-side, all facing away from the windows.  A fourth chair is behind them.

Last night while rummaging through my storage boxes, I found my pendulum machine, a silver contraption I purchased back in graduate school.  The machine holds up a single metal arm, with a small weight at the end of the arm.  When you turn this gizmo on, the machine swings the arm, causing the weight to endlessly move back and forth.  Every time the arm is pointed straight down, a dim LED light within the weight silently flashes.

That little light is what makes the pendulum machine such an effective hypnosis tool.  I know; when I was a graduate student, it was used to hypnotize me several times.  The flash keeps one’s eye locked on the machine, which is helpful.  And people who have never seen this gizmo before have no idea what the LED is actually doing.  They assume it is a brain scanner or something else technically sophisticated.  This causes them to drop into trance quickly.

My old girlfriend Heidi didn’t think she could be hypnotized, until I challenged her to try it with the pendulum machine.  She went under in minutes.

I find a small table and place it before the three chairs.  The pendulum machine is placed atop the table, facing the chairs, and I’m pleased to see this places the LED light exactly at eye level.

I sit in the near chair, cross my legs, and wait.

It is 6:45 PM.  Smithers Hall is silent.

My plan is simple.  The whole point of this twisted exercise is to hypnotize Becky.  Kendell and Latoya are just innocent bystanders.  No, once the Queen of Wendell Hallow is under my spell, I will program Becky to be nicer.  Nicer to her fellow students, nicer to the faculty, nicer to everyone.  I’m doing the whole school a public service.

 _Of course,_ a naughty voice deep inside me thinks, _once she’s under, you could make her fuck you until your dick was raw.  She must be an incredible lay…_

I furiously push that thought aside.  No, I tell myself firmly.  The objective is to hypnotize Becky into becoming a nicer person.  “Fixing” Becky Santorina, so to speak.  If I let myself be tempted to have sex with her…  I refuse to think about it.

 _Uh-huh,_ the naughty voice teases me.  _You’re going to all of this trouble just to make a bitchy student into a nice person?  Riiiiiiiiiight._

*********************

At 6:57, I hear footfalls in the corridor, and then the classroom door gingerly opens.  Kendall and Latoya enter, and they look crestfallen when the see how I’ve arranged the room.

“Come in,” I order.  “Sit down.”

They comply without saying a word, dropping their backpacks and jackets on a desk.  Kendell looks as if she hopes to be rescued.

We wait.  The girls sit next to one another, each studying their fingernails, each miserable.  I am now sitting directly behind them.

We wait some more.  I scowl.  Its now 7:06.

“Where is Miss Santorina?” I ask.

Latoya shrinks in her chair a little as she responds in a hushed voice:  “She said you would never hypnotize her.  She said she was going to the Student Center instead.”

“Oh **_really?_** ” I snarl.  I reach for my phone.

But here’s the rub…  If Becky doesn’t come, what can I do?  This little experiment isn’t sanctioned by the administration.  My plan was to bluff these girls into participation.  If Becky calls my bluff, I’ve got nothing.

I sigh angrily, wondering what the hell do I do now?  I can hypnotize Kendell and Latoya, but what’s the point?  The big fish has gotten away.  The whole point of this endeavor was to put Becky in my hypnotic power.

And “fix” her.  **_Only_** fix her.

Cursing to myself, I slip my phone back into my jacket pocket.  I might as well-

 _Wait._   I hear footsteps outside.  Rapid, angry footsteps.

The classroom door opens, and there is Becky.  Beautiful as ever, but simmering resentment in her eyes.  Those eyes narrow when she sees me and the room’s arrangement.

My heart pounds.  _Yes!_ I think.

“Join us,” I tell Becky coolly.

My favorite pupil slams the door, tossing aside her backpack at the same time.  She joins Kendell and Latoya, and sits with her arms and legs crossed furiously.  The other two girls visibly shrink away from her.

“Very well,” I say, coming to stand before them.  I recite a short bullshit preamble we used to feed to the psych volunteers back when I was in grad school.  I ask each girl to sign a disclosure form.  None of this is necessary for the hypnotism, of course, but it creates the illusion that I am conducting a legit research project.  Impressions like this help.

And then its time.  I snap on the pendulum machine, and it begins swinging the weight back and forth, back and forth, repeatedly tracing a perfect inverted arch in the air.  Instantly Kendell is transfixed.  Latoya watches it with obvious fear, and Becky glares as hard as she can.

I settle into the chair behind the girls, instructing them to set feet on the floor, hands in their laps, to breathe deeply, and watch the pendulum.  The setting sunlight is streaming in directly behind me, which casts a rich amber glow on the far wall.  In this haze, the pendulum machine looks positively alien as it swings back and forth, back and forth, LED flashing silently.

I continue my hypnotic patter, watching the girls carefully.  They can’t see me, of course, but from this position, I know my voice sounds like it is coming from no-where and everywhere at the same time.  A confusion technique.

The downside, however, is that I can’t see the girls’ faces either.  When you hypnotize someone, you usually sit off to the side.  That way, you can observe their expressions.  As their faces grow slack and their eyelids droop, you know they are going under.  I have to work without that information.

I tell my students that as they stare at the pendulum, their breathing is growing deeper and their bodies are becoming more and more relaxed.  I lay on the hypnotic patter quite thick.  Kendell is already having trouble keeping her head upright; she’s probably hypnotized already.

But Latoya and Becky haven’t budged.  Wait… Latoya’s shoulders are starting to slump somewhat.  She’s beginning to succumb.

You want to know a hypnosis trade secret?  A medical student once told me that our shoulders contain the muscle group which carries the most tension in our bodies.  When you fall asleep at night, your shoulders are the last muscles to relax; when you wake, they are the first to activate.  The next time you have insomnia, concentrate on relaxing your shoulders.

Now I see Latoya’s shoulders open up and relax.  There…!  Her head is slumping forward.  I’ve got her, too.

But Becky still hasn’t responded.  I wish I could see her face.

I glance at the clock; I’ve been doing the hypnotic induction for almost five minutes now.  Becky should have displayed some sign of trance by now.

I need to change tactics.  I’ve been using relaxation imagery thus far; Becky is clearly resisting.  Going for broke, I decide to use negative reinforcement.

“You’re doing very well,” I purr.  “Now that you know what hypnotism feels like, you can be content that this is as deep as you will go.  Feel a warm sense of relief and accomplishment flow through your body.  With each breath, allow your body to feel more accomplished, more loved.”

This is an unorthodox approach.  But by suggesting that Becky can resist me, I set trip words that allow her sense of accomplishment to subconsciously disarm her mind’s defenses.

I talk more about those feelings, and I notice that she begins to respond, just barely.  More to the point, anytime I use the words “love” or “caring” or “nurtured,” there is a measurable effect.  Interesting.

I pour on the suggestions and finally, Becky responds.  Her shoulders melt, and her head sags downward.  At one point, she tries to keep it upright with a sudden jerk, but it simply lowers back down again.  Her conscious mind is fading into sleep.

Watching Becky’s reactions like a hawk, I continue the emotion-based suggestions.  She cannot resist.  Within a few minutes, she has melted down in her chair, perfectly relaxed, completely out.

Time for testing.  I lean forward.

“In a moment,” I tell my students, “I will snap my fingers.  When I do, you will feel an enormous red balloon tied to your left wrist.  That balloon will feel completely real, pulling your wrist up and up and up.”

I snap my fingers, loudly, and then continue to describe the imaginary balloons.  Right away, Kendell’s arm rises, then Latoya.

And then Becky’s wrist ascends too.  Straight up, as if an invisible string were reeling it up toward the ceiling.  Becky herself is perfectly motionless, save for her hypnotically bewitched arm.  No delay, no resistance.

I let out a slow, triumphant breath.  I’ve got her.  I’ve hypnotized Becky Santorina.

*********************

I could start to reprogram Becky, but the little devil on my shoulder wants a little fun first.

I move my chair so I can watch the girls’ sleeping faces.  “In a moment, ladies,” I tell them, “I will count from one to five.  On the count of five, you will awaken.”  I tell them that they will believe my experiment is over.  When I attend to some paperwork, they will each have the uncontrollable urge to clean out the Soc Lab.

Why not?  I’m the master, and this is work that needs to be done.  I have all night to alter Becky’s personality.

I count up, and my students groggily rouse themselves.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll complete your forms,” I tell them.  “And then we’re done.”

“S-sure,” Latoya agrees.

I snap on the classroom lights and close the blinds.  Then I pretend to busy myself with their disclosure forms.  But I am watching all three girls closely.

Kendall and Latoya are fidgeting.  Both are staring at the door to the Soc Lab.

Becky blinks, then turns to the other two.  “I think we should clean up that room,” she tells them, as if the idea just occurred to her.

“Yeah,” Kendell quickly agrees.

I watch with enormous pleasure as the three organize themselves into a team and set to work.  Chipper and determined, they pull out everything, organizing, sorting, setting aside what I tell them is trash.  Becky is the natural leader, but she is calm and pleasant to work with.  Remarkably, hypnotism seems to have washed away her gruff exterior.

I find myself staring openly at her.  Becky is stretching, bending over, physically working.  While she isn’t trying to look sexy, I am nonetheless growing very aroused.  Look at her!  She’s completely convinced that the commands I placed in her mind **_must_** be obeyed.

I stare directly at Becky’s deep cleavage as she squats to rummage through a box.  I could command her to do this work in her underwear.  Or naked.

Can you imagine how she’d respond once I got her into my bedroom?  Oh, God.  I fantasize about fucking a mesmerized Becky Santorina.  It would be so easy, I tell myself.

 _Get a hold of yourself, man!_ I think.  _You can’t fuck a student!_

But I can’t stop staring and lusting after the entranced Becky.  She is… **_just… so… hot…!_**

The girls work quickly.  To my amazement, the Soc Lab is properly organized in about thirty minutes.  I thought it would have taken me a few days to square away all that academic debris.

“There,” Becky says with deep satisfaction.  When you complete a hypnotic compulsion, your brain rewards you by releasing endorphins.  In other words, obeying the hypnotist literally feels good.

I waste little time.  I put my students back in their chairs and drop all three right back into a deep trance.  Then I go to work on their memories.  I tell them that they will forget everything that has happened tonight.  They will firmly believe that they did not cheat on my midterm, they passed the exam with acceptable grades, and tonight they went to the movies.  They will never, ever remember being hypnotized.

I program Kendell and Latoya to go home and immediately go to bed.  They will enter a deep sleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.  When they wake up tomorrow morning, none of our little hypnotic adventure will exist in their mind.

But when it comes to Becky…  I look down at Becky, conked out in a deep hypnotic sleep.  The tops of her breasts push against her blouse as her lungs expand and contract.  Oh, those breasts…  I stare at them, their perfect roundness, the way they nestle against each other when held by her bra….

Fuck it.

Fuck “fixing” Becky for the good of the school.

I **_have_** to have her.

Leaning close to Becky’s ear, I deliver a steady stream of commands and suggestions.  Her face is blank, her eyes closed; there’s no hint that any of the dirty impulses I’m planting in her subconscious are alerting her conscious mind.  Hell, her mind is so zapped, I’m certain she will consciously forget everything I am telling her without the need for me to erase her memory.

Then snap my fingers.  Becky sits up and opens her eyes.

She is still in a deep trance, however.  Like a robot, she rises and collects her backpack.  I watch as she leaves my classroom without a word.  Her body language is normal, but her eyes stare straight ahead, glassy and somewhat unfocused.  As long as no-one disturbs her, she’ll remain like this for a little while.

I snatch up the pendulum machine and my jacket.  I’ve got to get home.

*********************

 


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

I’ve commanded Becky to come to my shabby little faculty apartment, just off campus.  The problem is we can’t go there together.  A super popular student like Becky walking with a professor to his private apartment?  That would surely be noticed.  So I’ll instructed Becky to come to my place, but take her time and make sure she isn’t seen.

In the meantime, I sprint home and furiously get ready.  There is dirty laundry all over the bedroom floor, unwashed dishes piled in the sink, three weeks’ worth of mail scattered on my sofa.  Becky probably won’t care about any of this in her hypnotized state, but why risk it?  I shove things out of sight, working at the speed of light.

And then… there is a soft knock at the door.

I hurriedly open it.  Becky is standing there, still with a dazed expression.

“Come in,” I hiss.  Its still possible someone has spotted her.  A quick glance outside…  no, it looks like the coast is clear.

Wow.  Becky Santorina is standing in my cramped little living room.  One arm holds her backpack over her shoulder, but the other hangs limply at her side.  She gazes meaninglessly at my peeling wallpaper.

I gently take her backpack.  “Becky, you will awaken on the count of five,” I tell her.  I count, then snap my fingers.

My sexy student shakes her head slightly as her mind reasserts itself.  She looks around, confused.

“Hey,” I say urgently.  “Look at me.”

She does.

“ ** _Loverboy,_** ” I tell her, waving one hand before her face.

That’s a trigger word.  Becky blinks twice, then focuses on me, as if seeing me for the first time.

She breaks out into a sexy smile.  “Hey,” she says in a soft voice.

And then, Becky steps forward.  I feel her delicate fingers touch my sides, oh so gently.  She closes those big, green eyes of hers, and leans forward.  We kiss.

Becky is convinced that I am a sexy college boy.  When she looks at me, I appear to be twenty years old, lean but covered in large, tight muscles.  My face is the most handsome she’s ever seen, and I am wearing a cologne which makes her horny.  Very horny.

Our kiss grows deeper, and soon I have wrapped my arms around her.  Oh God, I feel those breasts pushing against my chest!  This was so worth it.

Becky and I kiss for what must be three uninterrupted minutes.  My hands start to wander, and she doesn’t object.  I explore the small of her back, then her waist, her hips, her stomach muscles, and finally… yes, those glorious tits.  Before I can help myself, I moan with pleasure.

Becky breaks the kiss and grins like a devil.

“Com’on,” she orders me, and grips me by the belt.  I watched, amazed, as this seventeen-year-old marches into my bedroom, towing me behind her.

“Now then,” say Becky in a bossy-yet-flirty tone, “let’s see what you have, eh?”

She sits on the bed and crosses those long legs.  Her seductive green eyes positively glitter as they gaze at me.

I move forward to take her, but she waggles one finger.  “No, no,” she pouts.  She uses a playful innocent-little-girl voice.  “I want to see it first.”

I stare at Becky.  I’m the hypnotist here.  **_I_** should be commanding **_her_**.  I should-

Oh, what the hell am I worried about, I wonder.  Becky is already hypnotized to believe my cock is larger than a horse’s.

Feeling a little hypnotized myself, I unzip my pants.  I push them down, letting both trousers and undies fall to my ankles.  My hard-on springs out like the spear in booby trap.

Becky sucks in her breath as my hypnotic suggestions kick in.  “Holy fuck…!” she breathes.

I kick off my shoes and step out of my pants.  I approach the bed.

Becky’s fingers meet my shaft, and they delicately begin rubbing it up and down, up and down.  I let loose a shaky breath as cascades of orgasmic pleasure flow from my tingling cock to all corners of my body.  Oh my God!  I had no idea a woman’s hands could do this!

A minute of bliss ticks by.  I am feeling so much pleasure, I dare not move.  My legs will collapse from underneath me.  Its like my cock is a voodoo doll and Becky is holding me by immobilizing it.  Her fingers feel… so… gooooooooooooh man…!

I suddenly realize I’m about to cum.  I’m about to hose down my own bedroom, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  In Becky’s hands, I am clay for her to play with and mold.

“Wait…!” I gasp, but I can’t pull away from her grasp.

Becky glances up at me, smiling slyly.  “Too much, baby?” she clucks.  “I wouldn’t want you to shoot off too soon.”

She releases me.  I nearly fall to the carpet.

“I know what we can do while you cool down,” Becky murmurs.  She lays on my bed, face up, and then lifts her hips.

“Reach under my skirt,” she orders me, “and strip off my panties.”

I obey instantly.  Its like I’m the one under her spell.

Becky lets me take her underwear all the way off, and I’m delighted to see its another thong.  I toss it aside.  I know what she wants.

Without a word, Becky reclines again and spreads her legs.  I kneel, placing my hands inside her thighs.  I lean forward, my head between her legs.  I press my lips against her vagina.  My tongue slips out and carefully probes her, just a little.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Becky mumbles.  I can smell her.  She presses against me.

I begin licking her.  My tongue jumps forward, like a snake’s, and I aim it just at where her spot must be.  Becky groans, and I know its close… but I have to keep exploring.

I lean in, moving my arms to circle her legs outside so I have as much room as possible.  I plaster my open mouth against her, sucking and licking as hard as I can.  I am moving quickly now.

“Oh yeah,” Becky cries.  “You’re so close, baby, you’re so close….!”

I could move her G-spot to anywhere I wanted with a quick hypnotic command, but I just can’t break the mood right now.  I probe harder and farther, tasting this girl’s deliciousness as I go.

Suddenly Becky’s entire body tenses; I have to clamp my arms down to prevent her from bucking me off.

“Right there!” my student exclaims.  “Right fucking there, oh yes, yes!!!”

I’ve found my target.  Redoubling my energies, I slurp and caress it with all the muster I have.

Becky is a screamer.  She wails loudly and her entire body trembles like an erupting volcano as I lap her up.  While my jaw and lips are tiring, I find I can’t stop.  I have to make her climax.

“Ohhhhhhh God!!!” shouts Becky.  She grabs my hair and nearly rips out huge chunks.

And then, a massive spasm of pleasure kicks through her.  Her hips leap from the bed, throwing me off and onto the floor.  I’m amazed by the sheer force this girl possesses.

Becky is writhing on the bed.  She was close, but didn’t cum.

I leap on top of her, and our lips find one another’s.  Immediately I plunge my fingers into her vagina, seeking her spot again.  Right away, she starts to moan.

“No, no,” Becky rumbles, “I want you inside me, I want you inside me right fucking now, oh God I want you to fuck me so hard baby…!”

I waste no time.  In a flash, I am on top of her, my tip erect and ready.  I try to restrain myself and just tease her a little, but Becky it too far gone.

“Ram it in,” she orders, her eyes screwed shut with pleasure.  She’s still close.

I obey.  I enter her at top speed, slamming by balls right against her ass as my entire shaft disappears into her.  And then again.  And again.  And again.

And that’s it.  Becky Santorina and I are fucking furiously, both of us panting and sweating and gasping and clawing at each other’s bodies and fucking like we can’t stop.  Actually, we can’t stop.  I am too far gone to stop, and Becky is crying for me to go faster and harder.

The bed starts thumping against the wall.  I hear the glass of water I keep on my bedside table shatter as it is knocked to the ground.

“Fuck me harder!” Becky cries in my ear.  “So harder!”

Good God, I am already pumping her at warp speed.  My hips feel like they must be a blur.  I am slamming her so hard, her head will soon be banging through the drywall.

And then, mid-thrust, I shift my hips just slightly.  The changed angle does the trick; Becky shrieks and cums.  I feel her body quiver as she cums.

I cum too.

Oh God…  Cumming in a hypnotized Becky Santorina has got to be one of the highest moments of my life.  I’ve have countless orgasms in my day, but this one…  This orgasm feels like the cosmos exploded into wonderful pleasure, all in my loins.  I can’t describe it.  All I know is that I am cumming and this is beyond any pleasure I’ve ever felt before.

I go on fucking, fucking Becky even harder than before, if that’s physically possible.  I force my eyes open and find myself staring into her beautiful face.  Our gazes lock.  I watch as her orgasm washes through her sex-mad expression, pulsing and throbbing like a thing alive.

If you’re a guy… have you ever fucked an exceptionally beautiful woman and watched her eyes while she came?  Especially while you were inside her?  I will go to my grave with Becky’s pleasure-ravaged face etched in my mind.  I wish I could live in that moment forever.

Gradually, both of us lose steam.  My load spent, I feel my erection deflate, just a little.  I slow down and then withdraw.  The night air feels cold on my cock as it pulls out of Becky’s vagina for the last time.  There is cum everywhere, the bed is a sticky mess.

I flop next to Becky and lie on my back.  Immediately, she rolls toward me and begins pulling at my shirt.  Oh God – I completely forgot we fucked each other with most of our clothes on.  I allow her to strip me bare.

And then Becky gets up on her knees.  With one enormous gesture, she peels her blouse off, right over her head.  I stare as she throws it away and then unpops her bra.  I’ve never seen a woman remove her bra so fast; its like the thing was released by the push of a button or something.  Becky throws the bra away too.

I stare.  There, in the moonlight, is a naked Becky Santorina.  Her tits are right fucking there, bare, standing at attention, nipples erect.  I have literally never seen more perfect tits.  Not in Playboy, not in porn, not with a girlfriend, never.  Although I just had the Ejaculation of All Time, I feel myself getting hard **_again_** just starting at those naked breasts.

In a daze, I reach for Becky’s girls.  She smiles at me with a naughty expression, and then seizes my cock with one hand.

I melt.  Her touch is both satin and steel.  I can’t physically resist her.

Becky snorts with a stifled laugh, delighted at how easily she can toy with me.  Then her head dips straight down.  Her thick red curls descend over my crotch as she slides my cock into her mouth.  I feel her hand slither down to gently cup my balls.  Her lips begin to bob up and down, up and down.

I lose focus as I can’t but help going cross-eyed.  My mouth is dry and I can’t speak.  I can’t shift my body at all.  As Becky goes to work on me, I am somehow paralyzed.  All I can do is lie there.

The next orgasm begins rising within me.  It occurs to me that if I wanted to stop it, if I wanted to prevent cumming in Becky’s mouth, there is **_literally_** nothing I can do.  I am in her power now, not the other way around.

I cry out as I squirt, and Becky somehow giggles as she continues.  This girl knows what she’s doing.

*********************

I lose track of time.  Becky and I hump for hours, rarely resting for more than five minutes at a time.  She starts to make me feel old.  I can’t keep up with her sexual hunger.

But finally, we both give out.  I can’t take any more.  I suspect she can, but is letting me off the hook.

I put her back into trance, and this time tell her that now when she opens her eyes, she will believe she is madly in love with me.  All she will want to do is pillow talk.

When Becky awakens, she snuggles her nude body against mine.  I am on my back, my left arm around her shoulders.  She is on her side, breasts pressed against me, her head on my left shoulder.  My right hand wanders over her body while her left hand absently plays on my stomach.  The room is too hot.

This is perfect.

“What are you thinking?” I can’t help but ask.

Becky smiles a little as she blushes.  “I feel so close to you,” she confesses in a quiet voice.

I am surprised to realize that I am moved by this.  Even if the emotion is artificial.

I say nothing.  Becky doesn’t seem to have finished her thought.

“Its been so long since I felt close to anyone,” she murmurs.

“How do you mean?” I ask.

Becky glances at me.  “People hate me, you know,” she says.

“Oh no no no,” I reply, too quickly.

“They do,” she says plainly.  “I’m the pretty girl with big breasts.  Guys want me and girls hate me for it.  No-one knows me.”

There is an empty sadness in her now.  Uncertain what to do, I simply listen.

“There was a girl in my calculus class,” Becky says, her voice subdued.  “Sarah McCullum.  I really liked Sarah at first.  She was funny, outgoing, a free spirit… everything I’d like to be, you know?”  She sighed.  “We were friends.  For a few weeks.”

“But then her boyfriend met me and started hitting on me,” Becky continues, looking away.  “Like, **_really_** hitting on me.  He wouldn’t let up.  I didn’t realize how hurt she was until she started a fight with me.  She got expelled.”

“The worst of it all?” recalls Becky.  “Everyone thinks **_I_** goaded **_her_**.  I’m always… withdrawn in public, you know?  So people see me as a heartless bitch.  But I never wanted to lose her.”  Becky sighs.  “Sarah was really awesome.  I miss her.”

I listen, stunned.  The hypnosis has caused Becky to lower her guard, and I am shocked to find a human being with an actual soul under her armor.

“Tell me more,” I say… mostly because I don’t know what else to do.

Becky blushes again.  “Oh, you so don’t want to hear about my problems.”

“Try me,” I prod.  I’m curious, sure, but a compassion is awakening within me.

Becky hesitates, but then begins talking.  Puberty, as she mentioned, turned out to be her curse.  Once she developed her womanly figure, she was acutely aware that guys wanted just one thing from her.  The attention scared her.  Worse, her female friends saw her as romantic competition.  They got the knives out the minute Becky wandered past their boyfriends.

So she found it easy to make many shallow acquaintances, but impossible to make real friends.  “Sometimes I just accepted that,” Becky sighes.  “Its lonely being surrounded by so many people who are supposed to be your buddies… but you know they distrust and despise you behind your back.”

“There were times,” admits Becky, “that I acted out.  I deliberately did bad stuff.  When your midterm rolled around, Kendall and Latoya talked about raiding your office.  I got a master key – don’t ask how – and let them use it.  Not because I wanted the stupid answer key.  I just was mad at everything and acting bad felt good.”  She lets out a sad sigh.  “It was impulsive and stupid.  I do a lot of impulsive and stupid.”

I say nothing and just listen.

“If Ken and Latoy disliked me before this,” Becky mutters, “they are now gonna fucking stab me the next time they see me.”

“There must be people who love you,” I say gently.  “Your parents…?”

Becky is silent.

“Maybe,” she finally whispers.

Becky’s misery is deep, far deeper than I’d ever guessed.  Her father, it sounds, was absent at best and deliberately negligent at worst.  “My father **_hates_** me,” Becky tells me with complete sincerity.  “He was hoping I would be a boy after three daughters before me.  I’m the greatest disappointment in his life.”  The way Becky describes it, her dad abandoned her mom and sisters out of boredom.  He only engages in Becky’s life when she gets in trouble.

“If I were to die by the side of the road,” Becky scowls, “it would take the asshole a year to realize I was missing.”

She contemplates that statement.  And then she begins to cry.

I am unprepared for this.  My imagined night of lust has turned into something else, something more intimate and painfully searing.  I watch fat tears roll down Becky’s cheeks.  Embarrassed, she presses her face into my chest, but quiet sobs start racking her body.  I hold her tightly, not knowing what else to do.

She cries for some time.

I let her pour it out, occasionally stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.  These are not attempts of seduction, I am past that now.  I am deeply moved by this wounded human being in my arms.  While I don’t understand the depths of her pain, I clearly see that she has no way to release it.  Stroking her hair and kissing her seem like… well, the right thing to do.

She sniffles, mortified at her display of emotion.

“Hey,” I tell her, “its okay.”

“I should shut up,” she mumbles.

“Listen,” I say, searching my mind for some wisdom.  Any wisdom.  “My teachers liked to say that high school would be the best years of my life.  You know what?  They were full of shit.  High school is the **_worst_** time in life.  Its when we expect kids to handle the emotional problems of adults, all without any real guidance.  You know how many adults I know who point to high school as the moment they got really fucked up?”

“I can’t fathom what you’re going through,” I say gently.  “But I think you just need a few good friends.  People who care about you.  People who want to hang with you for who you are.  I don’t know how to find those people… but they are out there.  Its worth hanging on throughout all the shit to find them.”

I shut up before I babble and dilute my own lesson.  I’m not even sure anything I’ve said will help her.  But its all true.

Becky’s tear-stained eyes study my face.  She nods.  “Yeah,” she says softly.

She closes her eyes, snuggling her head on my shoulder.  I feel her drift off to sleep.  A real, natural sleep.

I should wake her, re-hypnotize her, and erase her memory.  But I can’t.  I just can’t.  I feel guilty for what I’ve done, for the plotting, the deception, the hypnosis, the sex.  All of it.

I’m a horrible person, I realize.

I drift off to sleep myself before I can counter that thought.

*********************

 

 


	4. Epilogue

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

I wake with sunlight stabbing my eyes.  What the fuck time is it?

I rouse myself and realize:  Becky is gone.

I am instantly awake.  _Holy fuck,_ I realize with terror.

No doubt Becky woke before I did, realized where she was and what happened.  She put on her clothes and left.  My plan – that oh-so-smart plan hatched in the moment of extreme foolishness and hornyness – was always to put her back unto hypnosis and erase her memory after I’d had my fun with her.

Too late for that now.

Oh God.  Becky was probably in the headmaster’s office right now, explaining what I’d done and demanding I be brought up on statutory rape charges.

Cursing my stupidity, I stumble to the bathroom and throw up.  A lot.

*********************

When the cops don’t arrive to slap the cuffs on me, I assume I’m not about to be immediately arrested.  What should I do?  Should I hop in my piece of shit car and head for Canada now?

I numbly think through my options.  Even if I wanted to, I can’t just run for the border.  There are too many personal things in my office.  My passport, my personal computer, my academic work.  Not to mention a small stash.  At a minimum, I have to retrieve those.

I force myself to shower, shave, and dress.  And then, sweating bullets, I head into campus.  I expect to be jumped by Security at any moment.

But nothing seems amiss.  I head straight to my office, and once there, start tossing personal items into a box.

A knock on the door makes me jump.  I whirl around.

There is Becky Santorina.  She is wearing a fresh uniform, and her hair is immaculately pulled up.  Her arms are crossed, and she regards me with a hard stare.

My heart bellyflops into my stomach.  What do I do?

It occurs to me I could try to hypnotize her again.  Maybe there’s enough of my posthypnotics embedded in her mind that I could put her under again…?

No, there’s no chance.  Becky clearly knows what happened.  I have no power over her now.

My mouth is dry.  I can’t speak.

Becky regards me with thinned lips.

Finally, she says, “Let’s talk.”

*********************

Becky leads me out of Smithers Hall and down Scholar’s Path.  I follow her meekly, knowing that my fate is in her hands.

We pass a few students who look at me curiously, but say nothing.  Has Becky blabbed about our encounter last night?

Finally, Becky selects a park bench slightly off to the side.  She sits on one end; I sit on the extreme other.  There is at least two feet of open space between the two of us.  I sense she doesn’t want me any closer.

Here, we can talk without being heard.  I watch Becky carefully, waiting for her to begin.  She scowls, refusing to look directly at me.

Finally, she says, “You’re **_such_** an asshole.”

I doubt in the whole history of Wendell Hallow, a student has ever dared to say those words to a professor before.  But I am hardly in a position to object.

“You’re right,” I say softly.

“I should be making sure they put you in jail, right now,” Becky tells me.

I can’t argue.

But then the senior girl sighs and stares at her shoes.  “But here’s the thing,” she said.  “While what you did to me was unbelievably horrible… you also listened to me.”  She hesitates.  “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” I ask.

“When I started spilling all my dirty secrets,” Becky says, turning her head to glare at me, “why did you let me go on?  You could have just put me under and wiped all those feelings away.  And I’d still be your little hypnotized bimbo fuckslave.”

“I couldn’t do that,” I reply.

“No?” asks Becky acidly.

“No,” I repeat.

There’s no reason or purpose to lie now.  I might as well be completely honest with her.

“Hypnosis doesn’t work that way,” I explain.  “You can change a person’s memory, but you can’t suppress their feelings.”

I sighed.

“When you started talking,” I tell her, “I couldn’t stop you.  I’m no therapist, but my guess you had to tell someone, anyone.  I just… happened to be the person there.”

“Just happened to be?” Becky glowers, and I realize I’ve used the wrong choice of words.

I spread my hands helplessly.  “I mean, right then, in the moment, you needed to get some things off your chest.  I… ah… hypnotized you to think we were love.  Plus, we had just had sex.  That releases endorphins and creates an intimacy.  So, chemically speaking, we were both sort of in love.  Sort of… but not really.”

I expect Becky to fly into a rage at my words.  But she stares down at the grass instead.

“I do remember literally thinking I loved you,” she says.  “That was the hypnosis?”

“Mostly hypnosis,” I admit.  “But also part sex.”

We fall silent as a group of freshmen girls pass by, possibly in earshot.  They glance at us, but wander by.

Becky sighs.  “I had such a crush on you when I first took your class,” she says.

I nearly fall off the bench.  “Oh,” I reply, for lack of anything else to say.

Becky looks away, watching a hawk far above us.  “You seemed… you seemed like a down-to-earth adult,” she tells me.  “Good looking, not a geezer like most of the teachers here.  On the day of your first class, I remember thinking you must be a very good listener.”

I say nothing.

“And you were,” Becky says, starting to cry again.  “You **_were_** a very good listener.  You know all that shit I told you last night?  About how everyone hates me?  About Sarah?  About my father?  I haven’t spoken about that to **_anybody_** , literally fucking anybody.  No-one knows that.”

She furiously wipes tears off her cheeks.  “Why’d you have to turn out to be such a complete dickhead?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.  I really mean it.

Becky nods, composing herself.  “I know you are.  You’re a horny, idiot man, just like all horny idiot men.”

She looks at me squarely.  “But did it ever occur to you that I would have fucked you **_without_** the hypnosis?” she asks point-blank.

I am taken aback.  “No, that can’t be true,” I protest.  “You… you were always such a cold bitch to me.”

Becky rolls her eyes.  “You’re a moron,” she tells me.  “You couldn’t tell I was mean to you because I was flirting with you?”

I’m speechless.

Becky sniffs again.  “You have a lot to learn about women,” she tells me.  “You know, I like to hook up with the occasional boytoy for some laughs, but you…  You and I could of been something.  Could of.”

Another lull.  I don’t know what to say to her.

Yes, I do.  “Look…” I say, starting slowly.  “What I did to you was so wrong.  So wrong.  I wish I could take it all back.”

Becky shrugs.  “Yeah, well…” she frowns, but doesn’t finish that sentence.

I stare at my shoes.  I feel lower than shit.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Well,” Becky says, straightening her back, “for starters, I will not be back in your class again.  **_Ever._**   But you’re going to give me, Kendell, and Latoya an ‘A’.  And you’re going to write the best fucking college recommendation letter for each of us.  Make them good.”

I nod.

“And beyond that…?” Becky says.  Her voice trails off for a moment.

She looks at me again.  A quizzical expression passes over her face.  “Beyond that, I think you are right.  High school is just a stupid few years.  In a few months, I’ll be gone.  A new life.  I’ll start by finding friends.  Real friends, like Sarah was.  Fuck boys.  Fuck my father.  I need…  What was it you said?”

She cocked her head to one side, and I am astonished as she quotes me verbatim:  “ _People who care about you.  People who want to hang with you for who you are.  I don’t know how to find those people… but they are out there.  Its worth hanging on throughout all the shit to find them._ ”

Becky falls silent, letting those words hang in the air.

Then she rises from the bench and walks away.  She doesn’t look back.

*********************

 


End file.
